


The Lucky One

by CastielHamilton



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heartache, I honestly didn't think to tag this as sad??, M/M, Minor Violence, Reader-Insert, SPN Imagines, Sad, but people keep telling me they're crying, possibly more sad than angst, sadfic, so I guess that's a warning?, stress / anger related, supernatural imagines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 13:24:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8210138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielHamilton/pseuds/CastielHamilton
Summary: Imagine you’re one of the rare lucky ones. You didn’t become a hunter because of a tragedy. You weren’t raised in the job. You had a normal life until you saw something that didn’t seem quite right, and so you followed your gut and tried to find out what was really going on.Imagine you met the Winchesters and ended up falling in love with Dean.Then imagine how Dean looks at Castiel.





	

Imagine you’re one of the rare lucky ones. You didn’t become a hunter because of a tragedy. You weren’t raised in the job. You had a normal life until you saw something that didn’t seem quite right, and so you followed your gut and tried to find out what was really going on. Turns out, everything you ever read about was real, and this thing needed to be stopped. As a rare lucky one, you didn’t do anything stupid. The only thing working against you was inexperience, so how could you expect to get thrown clear across a room? As a rare lucky one, you were saved by two guys who were tracking the same thing you were, and they killed it in seconds flat. They helped you on your feet and asked about your hunter history. They were surprised when you said you had none, and you couldn’t tell if those were impressed-surprised faces or “let the real hunters do the job”-surprised faces. You later found out it was a combination of both, but that’s okay. What mattered most was that you were alive, these guys saved you, and they gave you some great tips and contacts.

Imagine you ran into them again on another hunt. This time, you saved their asses. They were so grateful, especially the freakishly tall one. They insisted on taking you out for a victory round (or two or three) of drinks. You agreed and climbed into the backseat of a beauty of a car. It was a badass old Chevy and as soon as the engine roared, classic rock came screaming over the speakers. You weren’t expecting that from two dudes in their 30s, but the taller one turned down the volume at the protest of the green-eyed one. You learned the giant’s name was Sam, and the driver was Dean, his older brother. They were raised in the life by their dad after their mother was killed by a demon. It was a complicated story, but you listened earnestly, hanging on to every word. At the bar, the stories continued. They ordered beers, but you ordered tequila. Dean raised his eyebrows and smirked a little. “Well, I guess we know who the real party animal is,” he laughed, holding up his glass to clink it with yours and Sam’s. “No,” you said, “I just know what I like.” You downed the double and motioned for another. “And I know what I can handle.” They both laughed. It was a great night. You officially became friends.

Imagine you wanted to be more than friends. You didn’t think so at first, everything seemed so complicated. But when you’d connect during other cases and call them for advice or get called by them for backup, you realized you hadn’t just found friends. It was the way Dean leaned toward you during your post-hunt celebrations. It was the way he tried to out-drink you but you always won. He was always flirty, but he was flirtier when the booze was flowing. Flirtier, clumsier, cuter. He could let his guard down and stopped trying the lines you saw him throw at a few girls during your first hunter drink-a-thons. He’d stopped eyeing up the waitresses and bartenders. His green eyes were always on you. And if he stopped speaking for a minute while looking at you, Sam did that clearing-the-throat thing of an uncomfortable third wheel. Whenever Dean would hit the can, Sam would raise his eyebrows and try to gauge your interest in Dean, subtly wanting to make sure you were okay and weren’t uncomfortable yourself. One night, Sam said, “Look, I don’t know why it’s taking him so long, but I’ve seen enough and had enough to drink tonight to just say that Dean is totally into—“ when AC/DC’s  “You Shook Me All Night Long” burst over the bar speakers and Dean rushed up to the table with a stupid grin on his face. “Did you guys see the JUKEBOX because I did NOT and the SONGS on there are SO. FUCKING. GOOD. None of that lame shit. Like all CLASSIC shit.” He did a quasi SNL head-bop dance while grabbing his beer. He finished it and slammed the bottle on the table right next to you. Sam looked worried the bottle was going to explode. Or maybe he was worried you were. He looked even more concerned when Dean asked you to dance. But then he laughed when you coolly slipped off your stool, got as close to Dean as possible with a flirtatious grin, then reached behind him for your tequila and said you already had a dance partner named José. Dean did his shut-the-fuck-up face at a chuckling Sam and pouted at you while you laughed. You shrugged and let the rest of the drink go down your throat, slamming your glass on the table by his beer. “But now that José’s gone, I’m free to mingle.” You had never seen Dean so happy before that moment. You wondered if he’d remember this in the morning.

Imagine he remembered. Imagine he was always sending you some flirty text or goofy Snapchat. You always sent something back of equal or greater ridiculousness. After an uncountable amount of texts and calls and drunken dances, he finally kissed you in the secret lair they called the Bunker. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he told you, his voice more sober than you expected. You leaned into him to kiss him again, one hand snaking across his taut side to his back, the other at the back of his neck, gripping his soft hair. He ran his hands through yours and pulled you closer, kissing you hungrily but tenderly. It was magic.

Imagine you’ve practically moved into the Bunker. You still have your place nearby, but most nights are spent with the boys until Sam coughs awkwardly, gives you a wink, and leaves the room while Dean just grins at you.

Imagine you’re with a man who completes you in so many ways. He seemed emotionally distant and overly flirty at first, but you’ve realized he’s deep and wants to connect with you. His conversations are interesting, hilarious, and sweet all at the same time. His kisses, perfect. His hands and the way they trace your body – divine. Despite his lifelong baggage, you click on a level you’ve never known. You have never been with someone so satisfying, both mentally and physically. You’re happy, truly happy.

Imagine your heart breaking just a little every time he looks at the angel. Imagine the aching void in the pit of your soul when the angel looks back at Dean. Imagine irrationally hating a messenger of God for a moment, then loving him all over again when you see how much he means to Dean. Imagine being eternally grateful that you can thank the one who raised Dean from Hell. Imagine wishing it was you. Imagine the weirdest combined feeling of nausea and familial love as the angel – Cas, you remind yourself, refer to him by his name even when you’re alone – as Cas looks at Dean with a hopeful sadness in his eyes, especially when Dean’s eyes are on something else, like you. Imagine talking to him happily when you see the involuntary flicker of a smile as his eyes dart back and forth between your eyes and what you know is Cas somewhere behind you. Imagine Sam looking at you with the deepest concern as you watch Dean sit close to Cas when they’re researching, closer than he ever sits to Sam, and sometimes closer than he usually sits by you when you’re on the job. Imagine Dean asking Cas to heal you when you’re sick from a witch’s spell, and in your haze, looking up at Cas’s perfect blue eyes and seeing nothing but love and adoration – not just for Dean, but for you, too, because you mean something to the man he saved, because you have both saved Dean on numerous occasions, because you are both in love with the same Righteous Man.

Imagine spending more time at your own place for your own good, promising a worried Dean that it has nothing to do with him – sometimes you just want to be in your apartment because it actually has windows unlike the Bunker. That gets a sturgeon face nod and laugh. Imagine your first night in your place after you’ve decided to yourself that you need to spend more nights here. Imagine sobbing so hard you’re certain you’re breaking capillaries, so hard it’s as if Dean and Sam and Cas and everyone you have come to know and have ever known in your life has died and you’re the last one on Earth. Imagine screaming and pulling at your hair and clothes and smashing your belongings to the floor and you can’t make yourself stop until you feel a sudden embrace from behind – you didn’t even hear Sam knock or bust open the door to make sure you were okay. Imagine crying into Sam’s arms as he rocks you back and forth on the floor, gripping you tight and knowing full well what is going on in your head but never saying a word other than a whispered, “I’m sorry,” until you fall asleep in his flannel-covered arms.

Imagine knowing you’re going to break the heart of the man you love. Imagine the song “If You Love Somebody Set Them Free” by The Police coming on the radio one night when Dean’s taking you on a date and you have to close your eyes to stop yourself from crying while Dean is singing along and drumming on the steering wheel. Imagine being afraid to blindside him. Imagine being terrified how he’ll react when you say you can’t be with him anymore. Imagine trying to think of an answer to the anguished “Why?” that sounds less accusatory and less jealous than the truth he won’t be ready to hear – “Because I know you’re in love with someone else.” Imagine trying to avoid the topic of Cas altogether, both in regular conversations and in the made-up ones in your head as you prepare yourself for the end. Imagine knowing it’s going to hurt like nothing else for both of you. Imagine knowing Sam will try to comfort his brother and try to comfort you at the same time, going back and forth between the Bunker and your apartment, trying to come up with explanations for Dean and trying to ease your own pain, telling you he knows what it’s like, without ever saying _exactly_ what it is he understands. Imagine knowing that Cas won’t understand what happened between the Righteous Man and the Woman He Loved.

Imagine loving Dean Winchester so much that you set him free, hoping, praying every single night to Castiel to catch him before he hits bottom.

And once in a while, you ask Cas to send one of his brothers or sisters to save you, too.


End file.
